


Tease

by roanniom



Category: Flip Zimmerman - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Grinding, NSFW, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roanniom/pseuds/roanniom
Summary: After you tease Flip for months, he finally makes you his - in a groovy 70s night club.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman & Reader, Flip Zimmerman & You, Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Kudos: 21





	Tease

You’d always loved to tease Flip, a fact which both amused and annoyed the hell out of him. You’d wink at him when he passed you by on Main Street. Toss an apple at him over the produce selection in the grocery store before slinking towards the checkout. Come down to the station on your break to have lunch with Penelope, the station receptionist and your best friend. Always, always wearing unseasonably short skirts and your biggest smile.

That’s how he first met you – perched on the reception desk, legs crossed under a short corduroy skirt. Your snug turtleneck a stark juxtaposition to the bare expanse of your thigh that leads to slender, suede knee-high boots. You looked like you’d just walked out of a catalogue for some fancy designer bullshit, or even like you were one of those Charlie’s Angels.

As Flip had approached the front desk, you’d noticed him coming and brought your hand to your temple in a cheeky salute. Penelope on the other hand had scrambled to clear the rubble of your meal, balling up food wrappers and moving paper cups.

“I’m sorry Detective Zimmerman. Things had been pretty slow. I didn’t think anyone would mind –”

“Don’t worry about it, Pen.” Flip had waved a dismissive hand. He was vaguely annoyed at Penelope’s continued insistence on addressing him so formally, but in truth he’d barely spared her a glance, even while speaking to her.

No, instead his eyes remained on you. Taking in the way you’d not only failed to help Penelope conceal the evidence of your lunch but the fact that you’d leaned back, making yourself comfortable on your perch even under the weight of his scrutiny.

“And who’s your friend?” Flip asked, eyes still boring into yours. Penelope had introduced you and your name seared itself into Flip’s brain like a brand on flesh.

“What’s your name, Detective?” you’d asked with humor in your eyes. Almost like you were making fun of him. Enjoying at joke at his expense but he didn’t know the punchline.

“Flip. Flip Zimmerman.” His chest puffed a bit as he told you, an unconscious desire running through him to make you take in his full height.

“Catch any robbers today, Flip?” you’d asked, fishing a rumpled package of cigarette out of your purse.

“That’s not really what I do here.” He’d plucked a cigarette from your package when you offered it to him.

“Oh yeah? What do you do here?” Flip eyed the way your lips pucker around your cigarette and pulled a lighter out of his pocket before you can find your own.

“I get the real bad guys, sugar.” The flicker of the lighter’s flame reflected in your eyes as it licked the tip of the cigarette. As your cheeks hollowed to suck air through the filter and coax a productive burn.

“Ooo,” you’d trilled in response on an exhale, blowing smoke up in Flip’s direction as he brought the lighter to his own face. You glanced over to Penelope before fixing him again with your amused stare. “A regular gunslinger.”

You’d bitten your lip around a smile. A clear invitation to engage. Flip was only too happy to take the bait.

“I’ve slung a few guns in my day, yeah.”

“How good are you?”

“At what?”

“At slinging your gun.”

Poor Penelope was all but forgotten at this point, watching the banter volley between you as Flip slowly moved closer. He’d reached to pull out his gun, twirling it smoothly by the trigger guard before returning it to its holster.

“I’d say I’m one of the best.”

Flip had watched you run your tongue over your lips in preparation to speak – probably to say something even more cheeky and suggestive – but before you could say anything, Penelope reminded you of your dwindling lunch break and how long it took to get back to your office.

And just as soon as the interaction had begun, it was over. You’d hopped off the desk, purse in hand, and sauntered for the doors, shouting a goodbye to Penelope and throwing a little wave over your shoulder to Flip.

Right then is when Flip knew.

He was fucked.

~*~

Every time he saw you after that was fleeting, but equally charged. You teased him about his boots and his flannels. About his trucker hats and serious expression. Flip, in turn, took the teasing in stride and gave as good as he got. Slowly, over the course of many small interactions, he began to piece together the picture of your personality, of your life. What you did for a living. How you loved your friends and family. Who you were behind the smile and the biting wit.

Flip started asking you out somewhere around the third encounter. When he found you’d been sitting behind him in the movie theater during the whole film, alone like him, not alerting him to your presence until the credits rolled and you’d leaned over to pluck a piece of popcorn out from the bottom of his container. He’d been surprised to feel the press of your breasts against his shoulder, a surprise made all the more pleasant by the recognition of your face.

You’d chatted your way out of the theater, bumming a cigarette off him as you stepped into the cool night air. Chatting turned to bickering as you argued who would be better equipped to pull off a successful heist like in the film.

“You’re a man of the law. It goes against your nature.” You’d waved your cigarette dismissively, smiling through the smoke. Flip shook his head vigorously.

“I’m a man of the law, so I know how to avoid getting caught.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!”

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot I was talking to a high-class criminal mastermind.” Flip’s words were sarcastic, but his lopsided grin matched your own.

“You don’t know me, Flip Zimmerman. I could be anything.” You sucked on your cigarette and blew smoke out of the side of your mouth. “I could be everything.”

Everything. You already were. You were on his mind more than Flip cared to admit and it was in that moment that he knew he had to have you. Simple as that.

“Get dinner with me.” His words were firm. Not a question, not exactly an order. You’d dropped your cigarette and pressed it out with the toe of your boot.

“What kind of dinner?”

“The kind where you get pretty, I pick you up in my truck, and we eat something.”

“Do I not look pretty now?” You’d asked, doing a twirl in your bell bottom jeans and eyelet wrap shirt.

“You always look pretty, sugar.”

“Then why would I need to ‘get pretty’ for dinner?” He could see the humor in your eyes though you attempted to keep a straight face. Still teasing him. Always teasing him.

He’d stepped forward then, only for you to take a step back to keep the distance between you from closing. When he noticed what you’d done, he took another, larger, step towards you, causing your back to hit the exterior wall of the theater.

“Well when I said get pretty, I really meant get pretty with me in mind,” he said, smirking. His cigarette was still lit and on its last dying embers as he took a deep, penultimate drag. He watched you watch the cords of his neck work on the inhale and exhale. He had one foot between yours, crowding your space but not yet touching.

“How do you know I don’t already get pretty with you in mind every day, gunslinger?”

Flip’s eyes had widened incrementally at that comment, eyes darting down to the lips you lick and the smirk which had transferred from his face to yours.

Your confidence was sexy, but he also found it intimidating. He was used to women who cooed, women who swooned, women who let him take charge and take care of business.

But you – you were your own business. You didn’t coo, you laughed. You didn’t swoon, you danced. It was nerve-wracking and intoxicating, and it always made Flip want to match your energy.

He reached out and ran a finger from the front hem of your wrap shirt up to the deep v of its neckline. Your breath caught in your throat at the light but pointed pressure just below the valley of your breasts. The inhalation brought in the smell of tobacco from Flip’s cigarette but also a smell the of something that must be inherently Flip – pine and soap and leather.

Flip dropped the finished cigarette butt to the ground and pressed it out, but in doing so his leg bent slightly, causing his knee to rub against your inner thigh. The friction was nowhere near where it would need to be to fully stimulate you, but it sure was enough to make you feel weak in the knees, especially when combined with his heady proximity. When he began to lean down towards you, however, you ducked out from under his arm.

“Raincheck on that dinner, gunslinger?” you’d asked from a safe distance away, before leaving him dazed on the sidewalk in front of the movie theater.

~*~

You’d evaded his advances several times after that. Each time he asked you to dinner you found another excuse for why you couldn’t. They were never serious. One time he asked and you answered that the sky was too blue. Another day the clouds seemed to suggest a rainstorm was on its way. When weather was your excuse, Flip always grumbled that the dinner would be indoors, damn it. But you always flashed a smile before skipping off.

Sometimes the answer was simply a countered question. Challenging him on his interest, goading him into giving you compliments and repeating his invitation. As impatient as Flip was, he always played along. Always gave you exactly what you wanted.

“You can’t keep doing this to me forever, you know,” Flip had said to you in the station parking lot. He was back from a trip to the morgue and you were on your way back to work after lunch with Penelope. You were leaning against his truck as he stood before you, in a position very similar to that first time outside the theater. Flip had loomed over you and asked you to dinner and you had told him you had laundry to do. A night out with the girls planned. A mystery novel that needed reading.

“That depends. What’s your stamina like, detective?” You’d bit your lip and leaned your head up against the window, arms folded under your chest, making your tits jut out more delectably the usual.

Your boldness made him decide to be bold as well. He shuffled more into your space, pressing his chest to yours, watching your eyes widen at the contact. He placed both massive hands on the truck on either side of you, caging you in.

“Don’t you worry about my stamina, sugar. I’ve got plenty.” Flip’s breath was hot on your face. Lips inches from yours. “It’s my patience you need to worry about.”

“See that’s why I’m the one who’d get away with the heist, Zimmerman,” you’d rolled your eyes. “Good things come to those who wait.”

You plucked his hands from the truck and brought them high on the sides of your body, high enough that they were cupping the curve at the sides of your breasts. For a second he held his breath, thinking your were about to bring his hands up and over to grope you. Instead you dragged them down so that they traced the dip and swell of your waist and hips. In his distracted state, he was easy to catch off guard and push away, allowing you to push off from his truck and make your way to your own car.

“You know you’re killing me, right?” Flip growled over the hum of your engine cranking to life. You buckled your seatbelt and saluted him. Your regular form of salutations at this point.

“Then arrest me, detective.” You’d winked before pulling out of your spot and zipping out of the lot, leaving a very confused and aroused Flip still standing in his place.

~*~

Flip was desperate the day that he finally went crawling to Penelope, offering her treats and favors in exchange for any intel she could possibly provide him on you. But Pen held strong – she was your best friend after all, and she’d grown up with five younger brothers and was effectively immune to any sort of puppy dog eyes.

However, Penelope had also had to act as main spectator in your razor-tongued courtship over the last few months and she had frankly had enough of the will-they-won’t-they at this point. She wanted the “will” part to get started already.

So instead of giving him any true insight into your feelings, she simply let him know that a few of the more junior members of the police department were going out dancing later that night. And that maybe you would be there. Maybe.

What Penelope didn’t tell you is that you’d begged her to invite him and that she’d been planning to do so later that day. Flip had just beaten her to it.

After wrangling Ron and Jimmy and anyone else he could find to create a large enough group of senior level guys so it wouldn’t be weird crashing junior night, Flip found himself in the kind of club he hadn’t found himself in in ages. Not since two girlfriends ago. Callie had been a dancer and had dragged him all over town all nights of the week. Loud music and flashing lights. Too many people, writhing their bodies around like jumpy sardines in a tin. The relationship hadn’t lasted long and had long left him with an aversion to places like this with people like these.

But when, after scanning to room for any glimpse of you, his eyes finally find your face, Flip can’t help think that there must be no greater place on earth. With your head tipped back, eyes closed in pleasure, the lights bathe your face in colors as you sway your body in time to the music. 

Your turtleneck has been ditched for a crocheted halter top, paired with a skirt shorter than the ones he usually sees you in. Your knee-high boots have been switched out for a thigh-high pair. You dance with Penelope and a couple of other girls, none of whom he recognizes. Several of the younger beat cops are in a cluster around your female gang, most of them eyeing you. Nudging each other, pointing. You’re the most beautiful of your friends, the most free, the most enticing, and Flip’s not the only one to notice it.

Suddenly he’s wading through the crowd, on a straight path that takes him directly to you. Ron and Jimmy call Flip’s name, confused at his sudden departure, but he barely hears them.

You see him coming – of course you do, he’s a mountain moving through a sea of men – and if he thought the lights had illuminated your face before, then he is certainly blinded by how your smile lights up your face now.

“Detective Gunslinger!” you cry out and launch yourself at him, arms around his neck to both bring him down to your level and help you bring yourself up to his. You seem a little tipsy, judging by your giggle and the fact that your arms don’t drop away from him after your initial hello. That’s fine by him, seeing as Flip had knocked back a few beers himself to try and settle his nerves before getting to the club.

“It’s nice to see you, too, sugar.” His laughs and his voice is deep and rich and you feel it reverberate through your own chest now that your bodies are pressed together. Used to limited and fleeting touches, the contact is a heady cocktail in and of itself.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you in a place like this. You’re too serious for dancing.” You say the last part with a dramatic frown, mimicking his default stoic expression. Flip puts his thumb and forefinger to your cheeks and squeezes, turning your frown into a cute pout.

“I keep telling you, darlin’. I’d do anything for you.”

Right now he wants to drag you away from the dance floor. Drag you away from the rookies who are eyeing you like a piece of meat. Take you to a place where you can be alone and just be.

Instead you tighten your arms around his neck and resume the swaying of your body. With the way you’re pressed against him, the sway causes your body to slide back and forth against his.

“If you’d do anything for me, I want you to dance, Zimmerman.” You look up at him, your face filled with mischief. At his hesitation you shake him a bit. “Dance with me, I dare you!”

Never one to back down from a dare, Flip grabs your hips and pulls you abruptly into him before pulling you to a different part of the dance floor. Once there he parts from you so you can move more freely to the music. It’s a faster song, so he follows your lead, matching your motions and copying your moves. You’re surprised a man who owns that much flannel and who towers so tall above people can move this way, but Flip is good.

He’s even better when the song changes to a slower tempo and he steps forward into your space again, slotting you against his body so you can grind against him. His legs bend at the knee and his thigh moves between your legs. Without even meaning to, your hot core presses down against the muscle of his thigh, making your stomach drop just as his large hands grab handfuls of your ass.

Before either of you know it, the dancing devolves into something much dirtier. As the song switches again, Flip moves behind you, this time bracketing your ass with his hips. You grind your ass back into him to the beat and are supremely pleased to feel a hard bulge welcoming your efforts. You pull his hands up your waist to the undersides of your breasts – juuust low enough to keep his hands from fully groping you out on the dance floor. However, this doesn’t stop Flip, who’s waited for far too long. One of his hands moves the extra inches, encompassing your breast and kneading it over your shirt.

You let out a gasp in response and glance around to see if anyone had seen. Predictably, everyone else is too caught up in their own hot and heavy dancing to pay you any mind.

“You’ll get us written up for obscenity, detective,” you say loudly, over the music. Flip chuckles at your ear, settling his chin on your shoulder.

“The law doesn’t cover the dancefloor.” He’s pleased to feel and hear your answering laugh.

“You mean this is neutral territory? You know what that means, gunslinger?”

“Yeah, it’s the perfect place for our heist,” Flip says before placing an open-mouthed kiss just below your ear. You gasp at the sensation, one of your hands winding up behind you to grasp his black wavy hair. The way you’d fantasized.

“I think we might actually get away with it if we team up,” you say breathlessly.

“We could get away with all kinds of things,” he continues, not even really thinking about his words. He’s too caught up in the way your nipple is hardening through your crocheted top. As he massages the roundness of your breast, he’s more than pleased to find his hand come into contact with flesh as your nipple presses through the relatively open weave, pulled askew by his ministrations.

“Yeah, we could start a casino. We could start a black market.” You’re rambling, completely overwhelmed by his large hand on your breast, by his lips kissing up the column of your neck, nipping at your ear lobe.

“I could fuck you right here. In front of everyone.” His voice is deeper than it has ever been as it rumbles the centimeter from his lips to your ear. Your heart and pussy clench in immediate response. You let out a moan that he feels more than hears as you melt deeper into his hold, lolling your head back on his shoulder and glancing up to try and see his face.

“Well if the law doesn’t cover the dance floor…”

Flip takes the hand that has been gripping your hip and drags it lower, squeezing down on the front of your thigh through your skirt, just before the apex of your legs. The action presses you back into him even more, just as he begins to push forward with his hips in time with the music. His cock is hard in his jeans as it presses into you, rigid and impatient. You undulate your hips to increase the surface area of friction and Flip bites into your shoulder lightly. Its obscene, inappropriate.

And you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

“When are you going to stop teasing me, sugar? Huh?” He breaths into your skin. Bodies write together on all sides of you but they are faceless, background noise to this, a moment that he has been waiting for.

“Who, me? I’ve never teased you a day in my life, Zimmerman.” You say this as the hand in his hair tugs and your other hand winds back to graze up his thigh in search of his hidden length. When you reach it he bucks into you and growls into your ear.

“You’re the biggest fucking tease I’ve met in my entire life.” His words are harsh but the hands on your body, caress. Borderline worship.

“And you’re the most fun to rile up.” You move your hand up and down the line of his cock, motions obscured between your bodies. “I’ve been trying to get you hard since the day we met.”

“I’ve been fucking hard since the day we met, sugar.”

You twist in his arms so you can look at him. Your eyes are filled to the brim with amusement and warmth along with the ever-present mischief.

“Well what are you gonna do about it, gunslinger?”

Flip shakes his head in awe, letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“I’ve been trying to do something about it. You keep running away!” He’s almost defensive until you wrap your arms around his neck and lift up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

“I’ve been waiting for you to just take me.”

Flip’s body goes rigid. His hands find your waist again, holding you close and getting you to sway with him again to the music as he processes your words.

“You want me to just take you? Grab you like the little doll you are and make you mine? That’s what you want?”

“More than anything.” You are breathless, chest heaving against his.

“Be careful what you wish for.” His eyes are dark, even as the lights dance across his face. But neither of you are dancing anymore.

~*~

You don’t know how you two found the supply closet. You’re not even sure if this is a supply closet. All you know is that Flip had grabbed your hand and whisked you off the dance floor, without even a word of goodbye to Penelope or your other friends, all of whom were probably appalled by your brazen display. You’d rushed down a darkened hallway, past the bathrooms and the manager’s office. A door had opened, a true miracle as you were pretty sure that Flip’s hands were entirely occupied and filled with you. Your hips, your thighs, your ass – he wanted to touch every inch of you and he was sure getting a head start. Not that you were any better.

By the time he stumbles you up against a set of shelves you’ve already unzipped his jeans and shoved your hand inside his underwear. Desperate to feel what you do to him. To confirm that the slick pooling between your thighs has a hard, twin arousal waiting for it between his.

A table covered in cleaning supplies gets cleared with one sweep of his massive arm, sending spray bottles and sponges flying to the floor but you couldn’t care less. You hop of the table, anticipating his desires, and spread your legs wide as you pull him by the collar of his plaid shirt. Pull him right where he belongs, between your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips to press your core to the rigid cock now protruding from his unzipped jeans.

“Get inside me, gunslinger. What’s taking so long?” you ask around a laugh.

“Are you kidding me?” Flip slaps the side of your ass and you yelp. Before you can react to anything else, he has your skirt up around your hips, your panties yanked to the side and his cock buried deep in your cunt.

“Jesus, Flip.”

No “detective,” no “gunslinger,” no “Zimmerman.”

“That’s what you get for sassing me, sugar.” Flip grips your hips hard as he rears back and rams right back into you, again without warning. “You’re going to take my cock and you’re going to like it.”

“Oh god – oh go – fuck!” Your eyes screw shut and your legs clamp around him. Trying to keep him inside of you, trying to adjust to his massive size.

“What’s the matter, baby? Too much for you?”

“Sooo b-IG,” you stutter out, ending the statement on a squeal as yet another thrust pounds home, deep, deep inside you.

“That’s right, baby. You’re getting exactly what you wished for – to be ruined by my fat cock.” His other hand yanks your shirt over your head, discarding the crocheted fabric somewhere on the floor. Your braless breasts bounce in his face with the force of each thrust and it’s more than he can take. So he latches his mouth to you, sucking and nipping at your supple flesh. You moan and throw your head back at the sensation, weaving your fingers through his wavy locks to keep him pressed to you.

When he pulls away to watch you beneath him, thrusts still rocking your body against the table, he’s shocked to find that even disheveled you look luminous. With your skirt bunched around your hips, legs slung around his body, and breasts bouncing – one still shiny with saliva from his attention – you smile up at him.

“You’re right,” you manage to choke out. “This is exactly what I – oh! Exactly what I wished for.” Then you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you, so that he is bent over your body as your back presses into the wood of the table. “Now fuck me harder.”

The roar Flip releases is nothing short of animalistic and he knows he should try to be quieter. Knows people can probably hear him ravaging you here in this supply closet. But your moans join his, mixing in the air with the smell of sweat and sex and it too is intoxicating. As intoxicating as the slap of his balls against your ass as he pulls you just off the edge of the table to meet each trust. As intoxicating as the feeling of tongue against tongue when your lips finally meet in your first kiss.

Flip almost laughs into your mouth at the realization that he was balls deep in you long before you’d had a chance to lock lips. The pent up energy of the last few months spills out into the kiss. You bite his lower lip and reasserts dominance, licking up into the roof of your mouth hungrily.

When you part for air, the smile is somehow still on your face, albeit now a bit dazed. You wind your hand between your bodies and work at your clit, rubbing it as you lean back, supported by the other palm pressed flat on the table. Flip looks down, mesmerized, at the way your finger flicks and circles your swollen nub, slick and wet from how aroused you are. From how much you want him. Him.

“I’m gonna make you cum, right here on my cock.” Flip spits the sentence through his teeth, giving you all he’s got, shaking from the exertion of fucking you harder than he’s ever fucked anyone before. “You’re gonna cum on my cock and then I’m going to take you home and make you cum fifteen more times.”

You laugh at that, but he knows he’s got you right where he wants you when the hand supporting you leaves the table and grabs at his shoulder, clinging to him.

“Please,” you mewl, rubbing more furiously against your clit. Flip can feel your walls clamping down on his cock as it drags in and out repeatedly.

“Begging already, sugar?” Sweat accumulates on his brow as Flip leans deeper down over you, hoisting your leg up to press your knee into you, widening your opening even more so he thrust even deeper. When you don’t respond, so choked up on pleasure and the desire to chase your release, Flip swells with pride.

“What happened, baby? Talk, talk, talk is all you do for months,” he huffs and puffs into your ear, trying to stave off his own release a little longer. So he can taunt you, just a bit. Tease you like you did to him for so long. “What? Get my dick in you and all of a sudden you forget how to speak?”

You hum in response and nod your head. It’s all you’re capable of and Flip feels his balls tighten. His cock aches as it pulses inside your depths. He presses sloppy kisses into your breasts as his hips begin to thrust erratically.

“You want to cum, baby? You want to cum?”

“P-please, Flip!” you practically yell out, walls fluttering around him, seconds from falling apart.

“Cum nice and pretty for me, sugar. Just for me.”

Your walls clench around him, milking his cock for all its worth. Shaking in his arms you babble out praise, thanks, and nonsense as you fall apart. You feel so filled, so stimulated, so thoroughly fucked your brain hums into nothingness as everything blacks out for a second around you.

When you start regaining awareness, you feel Flip holding you tight to him, still pumping in and out of your cunt as he desperately chases his release. As wherewithal returns, you run a hand through his damp locks with one hand anchor him to you by his shoulder with the other.

“I’m on the pill.” Your voice is breathless. Quiet. He barely hears it but it makes him moan out louder. He doesn’t miss the humor in your voice when you speak again. “Gunslinger?”

“Sugar?”

“Show me how good a shot you are.”

He shoots his load deep into you on the spot. Cursing you for getting in the last word, for the way his gasping breaths border on a laugh at your absurd words. But it doesn’t take away from the pleasure that courses through his body as he empties himself into you.

When he finally pulls out of you to readjust his clothes, he expects you to lay there for a bit longer, spent and sated. He’s surprised that you bounce back quickly, clothes back on and the smile returned to your face. Instead of disheveled, you some how look reinvigorated. Impossibly more energized by your sexual encounter. It makes his heart clench and a goofy grin spread across his face. He really doesn’t understand you at all, but that’s okay.

“Didn’t you promise me fifteen more orgasms?” You ask with a cheeky wink, pulling him towards the door and plucking two cigarettes out of the tiny bag that had been discarded on the floor. “What’s with you and always taking so long, gunslinger?”

And right there and then, taking the cigarette you offer him, Flip decides that your next orgasm will take him a good long time to stimulate, building it slowly, achingly, before he’ll allow it to crash over your beautiful body. He’s going to take it nice and slow.

See how you like being teased.

~*~


End file.
